The Tower and The Widow

As I write this I’m sitting in our flat in Paris and listening to strains of guitar music wafting in from Place de Sorbonne, which is right outside our windows.

It’s not lost on us:  we know we’re very, very lucky people.

I just returned from a trip down the block to the Monoprix and, of course, the wine shop, for some essentials.  The boy is in bed after another busy day and we’re exhausted but happy.

[Aside:  If we never leave France it will be because of the wine.  Every single glass we’ve had here is better than anything we’ve ever tasted in the States.  It’s just soooo good.

It’s killing me because I’m finally starting to get a handle on my nutrition, which was complete shit for the first few days.  Now I’m starting to eat a bit cleaner.  But THE WINE, THOUGH!  Oh, yeah, and the Bourbon Biscuits.  Crap.  I’ve got some work to do.

Enough of the side trip.  Let’s get back to it.]

La Tour Eiffel

Yesterday we made a second, and this time successful, attempt at ascending the Eiffel Tower.  It turns out it’s necessary to reserve tickets a few months in advance to avoid the ticket line, so we had to wait in line to buy tickets.

The good news, though, is that we had to wait in a total of 5 lines by the time we left the Tower, though, so the extra line didn’t really make much of a difference.

For the curious, the lines were:

1. A line to get through security and access the plaza beneath the tower.  When I was last here in 1996 there was no such thing.  Now the entire plaza is fenced off.  Whether this it’s a now-permanent thing or whether it’s due to Eurocup craziness I don’t know.  Wait time:  10 minutes
2. A line to buy tickets.  We elected to get tickets to go to the top of the tower instead of just visiting the 1st and 2nd levels.  Go big or shut the f**k up, I always say.  Wait time:  20 minutes
3. A line for the 2nd-level elevator.  This took us from the plaza to the 2nd level of the Tower.  Wait time:  15 minutes

[Aside:  The French appear much kinder to their employees than we are in the States.  The elevators in the tower, while not a pleasant working environment, at least had nice built-in seats for the operators to sit on.  The same goes for the cashiers at the few “supermarkets” we’ve been to.  I guess no one has figured out here yet that “sitting is the new smoking”.  They’re all too busy enjoying actual smoking.]

4. A line on the 2nd level for the elevator to the top of the tower.  This elevator was tiny and had glass doors that ran the full height of the elevator, which allowed the not-so-fond-of-heights types like yours truly to get a delightful taste of I-think-I-just-may-poop-myself terror.  Fabulous.  Oh, and the wait for this sucker was another 15 minutes.

5. A line to take the elevator back down to the 2nd level.  Or, as I like to call it, “Let’s Jump Back in the Glass Cage of Death”.  Wait time:  7 minutes.

So there was a fair amount of waiting to be done, which isn’t really too much to expect for one of the world’s most famous landmarks, but with a 4-year-old it could have been sheer hell.  But it wasn’t.  Braeden was a champ.  He played with us in line and he even broke the ice a couple of times with strangers:  once with a stoic but friendly tour guide from Turkey, and another time with a very cheery middle-aged woman from Canada.

The five waits went by quickly and we finally stepped out onto the top level of the Tower.  The views were spectacular and we took our time at the top, looking carefully out over Paris, trying to identify landmarks and tracing the path of the Seine off into the distance.

After a while we took the elevator down to the 2nd level, checked out the same landmarks but closer up, brought the boy to the restroom, and then took the stairs down to the first level.

Someone apparently decided that they didn’t want the first level of the Eiffel Tower to be the same “walk around, stare out at the scenery, put a couple of quarters into some rusty telescope to see the scenery closer up when you could really do the same thing at ground level” type of observation deck as those found around the world.  No, they took some initiative.

On the first level we found a lovely grassy area (actually turf) with some benches, a little cafeteria, and even a bar.  You could easily spend an hour or two just hanging on the first level alone, smoking cigarettes, drinking champagne, and being very French.

By the time we got there, however, we’d already had a full day and Braeden was reaching Max Capacity.  So we said goodbye to La Tour Eiffel, grabbed some lunch at an excellent restaurant called Le Saint-Germain, took a quick detour to Fnac, a local department store, and headed home.

[Aside:  We had to hit Fnac because I lost the lens cap to our Sony Nex 6 camera.  Annoying.  Then we found they didn’t have them in stock.  More annoying.  But wait, Amazon France carries them for only $4.99.  Oooh, but they’re a “you must spend $25 to get this item” item and I’ll have to contact our AirBnB host to see how we can access packages that are delivered to this address.  Le plus annoying.

Lesson learned:  don’t lose the goddamned lens cap.]

And now we come to the PSA part of our blog post:

We have a few friends that have just had babies.  I have some words of advice for you.

But not both parents.  No, I only want to talk to you, the “responsible” one.  The one everyone thinks has OCD.  The one who doesn’t think “budget” is a four-letter word and who flinches as if being beaten when their significant other says something like “but it’s practically no money” or “how much can it possibly cost?”

You.  These words are for you.

If you’re walking down the street and your significant other senses that you’ve had a long day, are tired, and are possibly in a vulnerable position, they may look at you and sweetly, nonchalantly, say:

“Can we go in here for a minute?  I wanted to look at [insert name of completely useless but very cute item for the child here] for a second.”

Don’t.

Pretend you didn’t hear them.  Feign a stroke.  Slap your forehead and say, “Oh shit, it’s my best friend in the world Nathan’s birthday and he’s so handsome and I completely forgot to call him,” and busy yourself with your phone. Do whatever necessary but don’t let them go in, and for the sake of all that’s holy don’t let them take the child.

If you do you will end up at the cash register, credit card in hand with two sets of teary, grateful eyes staring at you, wondering what the f**k just happened.

Trust me.  I know:

The Widow Clicquot

Today we took the trip that Juliann has been excited about for months:  a TGV ride to Reims in Champagne to do a tour of Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin.  And taste some champagne, of course.

The TGV was beautiful.  And fast.  And much more expensive than I thought it would be.  But it was fun to watch the boy stare out the window and marvel at how fast the incredibly beautiful countryside went by.

We arrived in Reims early, hit the local Monoprix to stock up on snacks for He Whose Hunger Is Never Sated (seriously, our kid is the Voldemoort of snacks), and enjoyed a bite in the park by the train station.

Then we grabbed a cab and headed over to Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin (VCP).

VCP is doing very well, thank you.  The place is gorgeous, the staff is well trained and crisply dressed in what look like upscale bellman uniforms designed by Doctor Evil, and the theme of the entire interior can only be described as “Crystal and Motherf**kin’ Gold”.    They’ve spared no expense in impressing their visitors, and it worked.  We were impressed.

The caverns are something else, however, and are a whole different level of impressive.  The entire Champagne region is riddled with them, so much so that just about everywhere you go you have a very good chance of having a few thousand bottles of bubbly about 100′ below you.

The caverns are cool, dark, and mysterious.  Our tour guide, Victoria, told us all about the Widow Clicquot, the history of her house, and how they made champagne.  We enjoyed it thoroughly, and of course at the end we tasted a couple of glasses of the stuff, one of which was a 2006 vintage, the year of our wedding 10 years ago almost to the day.  It was special.

After the tasting we played with Braeden in the courtyard a bit while waiting for our taxi, snapped a few more photos, and then headed to a restaurant for lunch.

We had a burger and a salad, enjoyed another game of Memory, took in the sidewalk scene, and then headed back to the train station for the trip home.

We’ve had two straight days now of pretty aggressive touristing, and tomorrow we’re looking forward to taking it easy.  I’m even hoping to get in a workout, something I haven’t been able to get done since Saturday.

I’m planning on trying Reebok CrossFit Louvre.  Perhaps I’ll bring a bottle of wine with me as a post workout.

Happy 10th Anniversary, babe!  I love you!